Growing Pains: Part 4 - Father and Son
May. 2nd, 2005 02:25 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsLeaving the medlab and getting to work, Forge shows his father his second home in the mechanical engineering lab. Support is needed, and given from both sides.
Richard stepped into the room they’d set his son up in, watching as Forge wiggled awkwardly into a t-shirt, his left forearm encased in a plaster cast, his prosthetic hand detached. “Escaping already?” he joked, watching the younger Forge feel around for his glasses. Picking them up off the end table and handing them to his son, Richard smiled. “Dr. McCoy said the lab’s all ready for you, all the equipment you’re going to need.”
“Thanks,” Forge answered, blinking a few times, then reaching to place his detached prosthetic into a small case. “Want to come see it? I got permission, all the classified stuff’s out of there.” As soon as he said that, he grinned quickly. “By classified, I mean…”
“It’s okay, John,” Richard said, holding up a hand. “I can put two and two together. Your letters told me about the things that have gone on here. About the break-in, and the problems with… what’s the word that they use in the news, the ‘mutant menace’? Supervillains? What do you call it?”
“I call it a pain in the ass,” Forge replied, using his right shoulder to push the door open as he led his father down the hall. “But ironically, that’s what’s going to be helping out here. Ah, here we are, Lab Seven.” Forge reached out with his left arm, then frowned. “Right,” he said. “The RFID key’s built into my prosthetic, I keep forgetting. Vocal identifier, then. Computer,” he said with a raised voice, answered by a chime from the speaker above the door. “Entrance; Forge plus guest ident ‘Dad’. Password, ‘Hephaestus’.”
The hermetically sealed doors slid open, and Forge led his father in to the lab. Richard looked around at the machines, large scanning microscopes, a medically-sterile workbench and lathe, as well as other machining tools. But what caught Richard’s eye was the barely-recognizable item in a glass case that looked like an exploded metal diagram of a human leg, with musculature and tendons all cast in dull grey metal.
“Myomer fiber,” Forge explained. “high-carbon steel, although only in the most technical of terms. See, you add carbon to iron to make steel. Carbon comes from organic material, so someone had the idea to add iron molecule-by-molecule to pseudoorganic carbon buckyballs until you had what basically amounted to steel that mimicked organic tissue. It flexes, stretches, adapts, and…”
“I know,” Richard said with a smile. “It’s used in high-speed aircraft construction for aileron control surfaces.” At his son’s raised-eyebrow look of astonishment, Richard laughed. “Just because I spend most of my time talking to lawyers and judges doesn’t mean I’m ignorant as to the industry I work in, son. I thought adapting the technology for prosthetic limbs wasn’t ready yet?”
Forge gave a wide, almost feral grin at that. “It’s experimental. Mr. al-Rashid, my Flight teacher, his legs are designed from the stuff and they work to channel his mutant power. I helped repair them a few months back. This material,” he indicated the case, “is more than enough raw material to work with. Don’t ask where it came from.”
“Wasn’t going to,” Richard mused. “Dr. Smythe says he can work on the existing interface, and have a working model ready for you to look at in a day. I went ahead and forwarded your medical records to him, he really is the best in the field.”
“Only because I don’t have a medical license to practice,” Forge mumbled, booting up the computer systems attached to the work bench. “Been thinking about that, but even with all the credits I already have, medical school would take too much time. I’d think about going into business with the things I can create, but stupid patent laws…”
“What if I told you I’ve found a loophole there?” Richard said, having waited a week to break the news his legal aides had discovered. “For you to legally patent your inventions, regardless of your status as a mutant?”
Forge didn’t turn around from the screen, still rapidly typing in commands one-handed, but his voice betrayed his interest. “Really? Talk to me.”
“You’re a minor. U.S Patent and Trademark Office has a caveat for junior inventors to have their parents apply in place of them for the patent, given proper power of attorney and the patent rights held in escrow until majority.” Richard pulled over a chair, sitting behind his son. “That’s fourteen months for you now, John. And I talked to Ronnie over on Capitol Hill – legislation’s being pushed to change those restrictions to include genetic status.”
At that news, Forge turned around. “They’re getting mutants added to the anti-discrimination laws? No way!” The glee showed on his face. “Do you have any idea how big a step this is? I mean, it’s Brown vs. Board of Education big, this is…”
Richard cut him off with a gesture. “I said it’s being pushed. It may go through, it may not. It’ll take some lobbying and campaigning. Sounds like good work for your group, doesn’t it?” He cocked a finger at Forge, grinning. “Your mother has mentioned trying to arrange some legal representation if you want to head Washington’s way with it.”
“It’s a thought,” Forge said, turning back to the machines. “Holographic screen on.” A 3-D diagram of his x-rays popped into life before him, rotating slowly. Frowning, Forge tapped a metal stylus at the image, watching it change. “Lot of work to be done here. When can Dr. Smythe be ready for the surgery?” he asked.
“Friday. We’ll check you into the hospital Thursday night for prep if everything’s ready,” Richard answered, voice solemn and serious.
“Three days,” Forge intoned. “It took God six days to create the human form, if you believe the Gnostics. Let’s see if I can’t perfect an arm in three.”
“You’ll do fine,” Richard said, placing a warm hand on Forge’s shoulder. “I’ve got faith in you, son.”
Forge reached back with his right hand, covering his father’s briefly. “Thanks…” he paused for a moment, before quietly whispering. “I love you, Dad.”
“I love you too, son.” Richard patted his son’s shoulder firmly, then motioned to the hologram. “You’d best get to work. Three days is a stiff deadline.”
Leaning back in the chair, Forge grinned widely. “Three days? Dad, I woke up this morning and God probably shit Himself wondering what I was going to do next. Wait until you see what I can do.”
Stepping back and letting the door close, Richard watched with pride as his son got to work. “Looking forward to it, son,” he whispered. “Looking forward to it.”
Richard stepped into the room they’d set his son up in, watching as Forge wiggled awkwardly into a t-shirt, his left forearm encased in a plaster cast, his prosthetic hand detached. “Escaping already?” he joked, watching the younger Forge feel around for his glasses. Picking them up off the end table and handing them to his son, Richard smiled. “Dr. McCoy said the lab’s all ready for you, all the equipment you’re going to need.”
“Thanks,” Forge answered, blinking a few times, then reaching to place his detached prosthetic into a small case. “Want to come see it? I got permission, all the classified stuff’s out of there.” As soon as he said that, he grinned quickly. “By classified, I mean…”
“It’s okay, John,” Richard said, holding up a hand. “I can put two and two together. Your letters told me about the things that have gone on here. About the break-in, and the problems with… what’s the word that they use in the news, the ‘mutant menace’? Supervillains? What do you call it?”
“I call it a pain in the ass,” Forge replied, using his right shoulder to push the door open as he led his father down the hall. “But ironically, that’s what’s going to be helping out here. Ah, here we are, Lab Seven.” Forge reached out with his left arm, then frowned. “Right,” he said. “The RFID key’s built into my prosthetic, I keep forgetting. Vocal identifier, then. Computer,” he said with a raised voice, answered by a chime from the speaker above the door. “Entrance; Forge plus guest ident ‘Dad’. Password, ‘Hephaestus’.”
The hermetically sealed doors slid open, and Forge led his father in to the lab. Richard looked around at the machines, large scanning microscopes, a medically-sterile workbench and lathe, as well as other machining tools. But what caught Richard’s eye was the barely-recognizable item in a glass case that looked like an exploded metal diagram of a human leg, with musculature and tendons all cast in dull grey metal.
“Myomer fiber,” Forge explained. “high-carbon steel, although only in the most technical of terms. See, you add carbon to iron to make steel. Carbon comes from organic material, so someone had the idea to add iron molecule-by-molecule to pseudoorganic carbon buckyballs until you had what basically amounted to steel that mimicked organic tissue. It flexes, stretches, adapts, and…”
“I know,” Richard said with a smile. “It’s used in high-speed aircraft construction for aileron control surfaces.” At his son’s raised-eyebrow look of astonishment, Richard laughed. “Just because I spend most of my time talking to lawyers and judges doesn’t mean I’m ignorant as to the industry I work in, son. I thought adapting the technology for prosthetic limbs wasn’t ready yet?”
Forge gave a wide, almost feral grin at that. “It’s experimental. Mr. al-Rashid, my Flight teacher, his legs are designed from the stuff and they work to channel his mutant power. I helped repair them a few months back. This material,” he indicated the case, “is more than enough raw material to work with. Don’t ask where it came from.”
“Wasn’t going to,” Richard mused. “Dr. Smythe says he can work on the existing interface, and have a working model ready for you to look at in a day. I went ahead and forwarded your medical records to him, he really is the best in the field.”
“Only because I don’t have a medical license to practice,” Forge mumbled, booting up the computer systems attached to the work bench. “Been thinking about that, but even with all the credits I already have, medical school would take too much time. I’d think about going into business with the things I can create, but stupid patent laws…”
“What if I told you I’ve found a loophole there?” Richard said, having waited a week to break the news his legal aides had discovered. “For you to legally patent your inventions, regardless of your status as a mutant?”
Forge didn’t turn around from the screen, still rapidly typing in commands one-handed, but his voice betrayed his interest. “Really? Talk to me.”
“You’re a minor. U.S Patent and Trademark Office has a caveat for junior inventors to have their parents apply in place of them for the patent, given proper power of attorney and the patent rights held in escrow until majority.” Richard pulled over a chair, sitting behind his son. “That’s fourteen months for you now, John. And I talked to Ronnie over on Capitol Hill – legislation’s being pushed to change those restrictions to include genetic status.”
At that news, Forge turned around. “They’re getting mutants added to the anti-discrimination laws? No way!” The glee showed on his face. “Do you have any idea how big a step this is? I mean, it’s Brown vs. Board of Education big, this is…”
Richard cut him off with a gesture. “I said it’s being pushed. It may go through, it may not. It’ll take some lobbying and campaigning. Sounds like good work for your group, doesn’t it?” He cocked a finger at Forge, grinning. “Your mother has mentioned trying to arrange some legal representation if you want to head Washington’s way with it.”
“It’s a thought,” Forge said, turning back to the machines. “Holographic screen on.” A 3-D diagram of his x-rays popped into life before him, rotating slowly. Frowning, Forge tapped a metal stylus at the image, watching it change. “Lot of work to be done here. When can Dr. Smythe be ready for the surgery?” he asked.
“Friday. We’ll check you into the hospital Thursday night for prep if everything’s ready,” Richard answered, voice solemn and serious.
“Three days,” Forge intoned. “It took God six days to create the human form, if you believe the Gnostics. Let’s see if I can’t perfect an arm in three.”
“You’ll do fine,” Richard said, placing a warm hand on Forge’s shoulder. “I’ve got faith in you, son.”
Forge reached back with his right hand, covering his father’s briefly. “Thanks…” he paused for a moment, before quietly whispering. “I love you, Dad.”
“I love you too, son.” Richard patted his son’s shoulder firmly, then motioned to the hologram. “You’d best get to work. Three days is a stiff deadline.”
Leaning back in the chair, Forge grinned widely. “Three days? Dad, I woke up this morning and God probably shit Himself wondering what I was going to do next. Wait until you see what I can do.”
Stepping back and letting the door close, Richard watched with pride as his son got to work. “Looking forward to it, son,” he whispered. “Looking forward to it.”
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